Photographs
by Sigma Creations
Summary: One-shot set sometime in late S8, this fic was written for Christmas, but I never got round to publishing it as I ran out of time. I thought about keeping it for next year, but decided against it, so here it is. Kudos owns the characters; I'm just borrowing them for a little while. I'd love a review if you have a moment. Cheers, S.C.


**Disclaimer: It has been pointed out to me that there are some similarities between the first paragraph of this fic and a scene written by FaerieChild22 in her story, Somewhere On The Edge of Sadness. I'd just like to note here that it was not done deliberately, and having discussed this with her, I have FaerieChild22's permission to keep these similarities. S.C.**

It all began two weeks ago, after Ruth had sustained a concussion when she'd been pushed by a youth running from the police, lost her footing, and banged her head against a wall. Luckily she'd been all right, if a little dazed, but had been kept overnight in hospital as a precaution, something that Harry had thought a good idea since she lives alone. Ros had been undercover on another operation and he hadn't wanted to send anyone else to pack an overnight bag for Ruth, knowing how much she'd hate anyone invading her privacy. So he'd gone himself, resisting the impulse to pry and doing his best to minimise the intrusion as he'd collected things he thought she might need, a couple of books, toiletries, pyjamas, warm socks, slippers, a change of clothes that he hoped would be comfortable, some knickers and a bra. He'd left those for last, building up his courage before tackling the drawer containing her undergarments, choosing the most worn pair in the hope that it was also the most comfortable. It had been while in her bedroom that he'd seen it – a photograph on the bedside table, a photograph of him. It had been taken years ago, he'd guessed, before she'd gone away, outside somewhere, perhaps the roof of Thames House. He wasn't looking at the camera, but was staring off into the distance, a pensive look on his face, complete with a frown and slight pursing of his lips, an expression, he suspects, he wears often. It had shocked him at first to find it there, a twin to the photo he has of her by his own bed at home, but it hadn't been long before he'd felt hope replace the surprise, hope that maybe, despite her current distance and the way she's been keeping him at arm's length since her return, there is still time, there is still a chance for them.

It takes him several days to work out a plan, but eventually he has the answer: Wes. Admittedly it's risky because of the boy... Nico. He's not sure how she'll react, how ready she is to deal with a situation that will bring back so many memories of all she's lost, but he can't think of another way, and besides, perhaps it'll help her somehow, help her get past the trauma and move on, hopefully, with him by her side. It's now or never, he decides and picks up his office phone.

"Ruth," he murmurs into the receiver, "would you, please, come here for a moment?"

"Yes, of course, Harry," she replies as she lifts her eyes to look at him through the glass walls of his office. Then she puts down the phone and gets up, very aware that his eyes are following her every move as she makes her way to his office. She doesn't knock, but steps through the open door and approaches his desk as he gets up and comes to stand beside it. "What is it?" she asks softly, pausing a few feet from him, wondering why he's looking so nervous. He's hiding it well, but she can tell that something's making him feel acutely uncomfortable and she feels her own anxiety rising in response.

"I have a favour to ask, actually," he replies, uncharacteristically dropping his gaze from hers for a moment before he swallows and lifts his eyes to hers once more. "Are you... do you have plans over Christmas, Ruth?" He watches her frown in surprise and confusion, so he quickly explains, "It's just that I have Wes- You remember Wes Carter?" She nods and he's pleased to see a small smile appear on her lips and her eyes light up at the mention of the boy. "Well, I try to... keep in touch, you know, go see his rugby matches, school plays and such. He's still at boarding school and he spends school holidays with his grandparents or his aunts and uncles. Anyway, last year, he asked me if he could spend a day with me over Christmas break and he ended up coming over to mine for a few hours on Christmas Eve. And now he wants to do it again, make a kind of tradition of it, and I was hoping, you'd agree to come too. I had Catherine over last year, you see, but this year she's with Fabian's family and I'm a little... apprehensive about trying to manage a... lively eleven-year-old on my own." He watches her smile softly at his admission, her eyes warm and affectionate. "So what do you think?" he asks.

"I think I'd love to come," she smiles warmly, making his heart soar. "What do you need me to bring?"

"Oh, nothing," he replies quickly, "just yourself."

She frowns again, wondering whether he's really as well prepared and organised as he's letting on, or if he's simply not thought about what exactly will be needed. She decides it's probably the latter. "So you have the Christmas decorations and food all sorted, and you have some games we could play or films to watch?" she presses him gently.

"Well... no," he admits with a frown, remembering how Catherine had asked him pretty much the same question last year and how she'd organised everything once he'd admitted that he hadn't got a clue.

"Catherine took care of all that, didn't she?" she smiles, reading him with alarming ease.

"Yes," he confesses, giving her a sheepish look. "I have Christmas decorations," he adds helpfully, "and a DVD player."

She nods and asks, "What about board games? Do you have any of those?"

"Chess," he volunteers, thinking hard and adding, "backgammon and a deck or two of cards."

"That should do," she nods thoughtfully. "There are loads of games we can play with cards. What about food?"

"Well..." he frowns, thinking.

"I tell you what, Harry," she smiles, "how about you take care of the drinks and dessert and I'll prepare the meal? Do you and Wes like turkey? I could make a proper Christmas spread if you think he'll like it."

"You don't need to go to so much trouble, Ruth," he immediately objects, but she just smiles at him and shakes her head.

"It's no trouble," she replies. "I'd enjoy it... as long as it's appreciated. I haven't has a reason to cook something nice in a long time."

"Thank you," he nods. "I'm sure Wes would like that... as would I, of course."

"Good," she smiles. "Right... So... what time do you want me?" Then realising the blatant innuendo in what she's just said, she mentally kicks herself as she fights the blush that threatens to break out across her cheeks and stammers, "to come over, I mean... on Christmas Day... Eve."

"Any time you like," he replies, enjoying how flustered she's become all of a sudden and desperately wanting to kiss her.

"What time's Wes coming?" she asks.

"Around noon," he murmurs, watching her face with barely masked adoration.

"Well, the turkey will need about three hours to cook," she frowns, dropping her gaze as she concentrates on planning the details, "which means I should put it in the over at eight at the latest really if I'm to bring it round on time."

"Or you could cook it round at mine," he says softly. "I have an oven," he adds quickly. "In fact, I could buy the turkey and anything else you need. Then you wouldn't have to lug anything over." He feels himself blush, hoping that he's not being too forward and obvious. "Unless of course, you'd rather-"

"No," she smiles, delighted by how flustered he's become. He looks adorable and she feels a surge of affection for him in that moment. "It would be much easier if you bought the turkey and I cooked it in your oven."

"Good," he smiles. "That's settled then."

"So I'll come round at nine then," she suggests. "That should still give me plenty of time to get the turkey on. I'll make the stuffing the day before so it's all ready and..." She tails off and blushes. "Sorry," she says. "You don't need to hear all that."

He wonders if he should tell her that he'd happily listen to her read the phone book if the fancy took her, but he decides against it. Now is neither the time, nor the place. "You'll send me a list then?" he asks.

"Just get the turkey, Harry, a small one. No more than 9 lbs. And some spuds," she suggests.

"Turkey and potatoes," he nods. "Got it. Christmas pudding?" he asks.

"Whatever you want, Harry," she smiles. "You're doing dessert, remember?"

"But do you like it?" he murmurs softly.

"I do," she nods, "when it's with brandy butter."

"Right," he smiles. "Christmas pudding and brandy butter."

"I'll make the brandy butter," she suggests. "It's much tastier home made."

"Bit more generous with the brandy, are you, Ruth?" he queries with a teasing grin.

"Absolutely," she smiles.

* * *

The lead-up to Christmas Eve is full of anticipation and excitement, much as the lead up to Christmas Day used to be for her as a child. She tries to pretend to herself and everyone else that she remains unaffected by the prospect of spending practically a whole day with Harry, but deep down she knows that it's simply not true. She's very much affected by it, feeling anxious and yet lighter, happier and more hopeful than she has done in a very long time.

She schedules herself off work for three days, December 23rd through to Christmas Day, saying she'll work on Boxing Day instead as well as New Year's Eve and Day, and by the time the day before has arrived, she's given up pretending she doesn't care. She goes shopping, wanting to find the perfect outfit as well as the perfect gifts for Wes and Harry and picking up several other things for the day itself, things she suspects Harry will forget like Christmas crackers and party poppers, as well as all the ingredients she needs to cook.

The day itself arrives and she finds she wakes early, exited and filled with anticipation and hope, hope that things will work out as they should for once between her and Harry. She showers and gets ready, slipping into her new red, flowing skirt and white blouse, pulling her hair up in a pony tail like she used to before she left, but leaving a few strands free to frame her face as she ties it up with the new sparkling red and green festive hair tie she'd found yesterday.

In the mean time, Harry's tidying his already immaculate house, nervously moving things around from one place to another as he waits for Ruth, anxious and at the same time thrilled by the prospect of sharing this day with her, of finally getting his second chance with her that he's waited for for so long.

The doorbell startles him despite the fact that he's been expecting it to ring for the last quarter of an hour. He makes his way swiftly to the hall, pausing to take a good look at himself in the hall mirror, smoothing down his hair nervously as he looks at his reflection. He's wearing a wine coloured silk shirt, one he hasn't worn in years and had discovered hanging at the back of the wardrobe this morning quite by accident while searching for something to wear, something smart but casual, something different from his normal attire of a suit and tie. Catherine had given it to him a few years ago for his birthday, and though he's always liked it, he's never before found the right occasion to wear it. He hopes Ruth will like it too.

He takes a deep steadying breath and swings the door open. The sight that greets him is that of a rather flustered Ruth, holding a box overflowing with food and an assortment of other things. "Jesus, Ruth!" he exclaims, swiftly stepping forward and taking the box from her hands. "How many people did you think were coming?"

She blushes and turns away, reaching down to pick up two plastic bags that he hasn't noticed as she mumbles apologetically, "Sorry. I think I got a little carried away."

"Only a little?" he teases lightly, earning him a defiant glare as she sweeps past him and into the house. He chuckles to himself as he follows and pushes the door closed behind him with one foot, shutting out the crisp winter air that's attempting to infiltrate the house. He smiles at her, murmuring, "This way," as he moves past her and into the kitchen where he puts the box down on the table. She places the bags next to it before pulling back and quickly scanning her surroundings before returning her gaze to his.

"Hi," she murmurs, feeling a little awkward and embarrassed now that she's finally here.

"Hello," he smiles, his eyes honeyed and warm as he holds her gaze for long moments. "Let me take your coat," he offers, belatedly remembering his manners.

"Thank you," she replies, unwinding her scarf and shrugging out of her coat. He takes them from her and moves back into the hall, leaving her to take a deep breath to calm herself. Everything will be all right, she tells herself sternly, beginning to unpack the box, needing something to be doing, something to distract her.

"Ruth," he objects when he walks back into the kitchen, "you've only just got here. Let me get you a drink at least before you get started."

She looks up then, murmuring, "I thought I'd better get the turkey in the oven first." Then seeing him about to protest, she adds, "But a cup of tea would be lovely. It's quite chilly out."

"All right," he smiles, "I'll make the tea and then we can get the turkey in the oven together."

She nods and quickly turns back to unpacking the box and the plastic bags, separating out the food from the rest of the bits and bobs she'd acquired during her shopping spree. She really did go a bit overboard with everything, she finds herself thinking as the pile of stuff on the table grows.

When Harry returns to her side and hands her a steaming mug of tea, she sees a broad, fond smile spread across his lips, but before he can comment, she quickly warns, "Don't say anything," her cheeks heating again despite her best efforts.

"I wasn't going to," he smiles, lifting one of the carefully wrapped presents and glancing at the label. "For me?!" he says in surprise, expecting it to be for Wes.

She nods and blushes again, but as soon as he gently shakes the gift, she immediately objects. "None of that now, Harry. You'll have to wait until later to find out what's inside." Then she snatches it out of his hands and puts it back on top of the pile of presents she's bought, lifting the whole lot and asking, "Where's your tree?"

"Living room," he smiles. "Let me get the door for you." Then he walks ahead of her into the hall, opening the door directly across from the kitchen and stepping aside to let her through. He watches her face as she looks around, feeling a little nervous while he waits for her assessment of his efforts in the decorating department.

"It looks lovely," she smiles round at him, making him grin in pleasure as he watches her make her way over to the tree and set the presents below it next to the ones he's already placed there himself. It's quite a respectable stash by the time she's done and moves back to admire her handiwork. "How many of them are for Wes, d'you think?" she asks, lifting her eyes to his.

"Most of them, I expect," he smiles, pleased to see her looking so happy and hoping it lasts. He's still half-scared that the memories the presence of a child will evoke will spoil everything.

"Will we open them today," she questions, "or make him wait until tomorrow?"

"Well, I'm certain he's not staying until midnight," he replies lightly, "so I suspect we'd better let him open them after lunch. With three sets of aunts and uncles plus two sets of grandparents, he doesn't want for gifts, I can assure you."

"Was that including us?" she grins, giving him a deliciously conspiratorial look that almost stops his heart.

"No," he smiles, relishing the moment as he gazes into her beautiful eyes.

"Lucky boy," she nods, turning to look at the tree again. "I never had any aunts and uncles. Both my parents were only children. It made for very quiet Christmases and few presents."

He doesn't know what to say to that, but it doesn't seem to matter as she blinks and turns towards him once more, adding with a smile, "I think I left my tea in the kitchen."

* * *

"Right," she declares eventually. "It think it's all ready to go in."

"What about the bacon?" he asks, glancing over his shoulder at the turkey that's sitting in the pan, stuffed and surrounded by spuds and parsnips.

"Oh, crumbs!" she exclaims. "I forgot the bacon."

"Never fear, Ruth," he smiles. "Bacon is the one thing I make sure I never run out of. That and whisky." He winks at her, making her stomach flutter before wiping his hands on the towel and retrieving the bacon from the fridge.

"Sir Harry to the rescue," she smiles mischievously as she takes it out of his hand, watching him blush adorably and turn back to finish washing up the bits and bobs she's used so far. He's so wonderful, she can't help thinking as she continues gazing at him, feeling her heart flood with emotion. _This_ is so wonderful, spending time together at Christmas. Smiling happily to herself, she turns back to the turkey, covering the breast with bacon strips. " _Now_ , it's ready," she says.

"Right," he smiles. "How about you get the oven door and I'll lift it in?"

"All right," she agrees. "There," she says, straightening up and smiling up at him.

"Time to open the Buck's Fizz," Harry replies. "I'll light the fire next door as well and we can have a well earned rest before tackling the veg."

"That sounds lovely," she smiles.

* * *

When the doorbell rings, Harry's still doing the washing up in the kitchen. He'd insisted, saying that it was his job today since Ruth had done most of the cooking. She hadn't objected. Truth be told, she hates doing the washing up, so she was only too pleased to have someone else take care of it for a change. "That'll be Wes," Harry says, pulling his hands out of the water and shaking them over the sink.

"I'll get it," she replies, setting aside her wine glass and getting up, moving towards the door. They've had such a wonderful morning together, talking, playing cards, going for a walk and listening to Christmas carols while they finished the cooking. She still can't quite get over how well they seem to fit together, how friendly and companionable has been the atmosphere after the initial awkwardness had worn off and they'd began to relax around each other. They'd managed to break the ice early on when they'd sat together in front of the fire Harry had built and sipped their drinks, struggling a little to find a neutral topic of conversation that wasn't work related until she'd had the brilliant idea to ask him what his Christmases had been like as a child. After that, conversation seemed to flow effortlessly, which had rather surprised them both and secretly pleased them no end. She hopes Wes's arrival will only enhance the atmosphere of warm friendship and guarded joy they've somehow managed to create this morning.

She recognises Wes at once, he looks so much like his father. He's accompanied by a woman who can only be Adam's sister. "Hello," she nods at the woman, trying hard to remember her name, before turning to Wes. "Hello, Wes," she smiles, feeling her eyes prickle with emotion. "It's so lovely to see you again."

"Hi," he grins at her, looking even more like his father. "You're Auntie Ruth."

"I am," she nods, surprised that he's remembered her.

"Uncle Harry has a picture of you by his bed," he states. "Is he home?"

"Mmm," she nods, feeling a little stunned by this information and knowing that her cheeks are starting to flush with pleasure. "In the kitchen." Then she watches as he darts past her and into the other room, hearing him happily greet Harry and the warmth in Harry's voice. "You much be Olivia," she smiles, turning to Wes's aunt, having finally remembered her name. "I'm Ruth, a friend of Harry's."

"Pleased to meet you," Olivia smiles, shaking her proffered hand.

"Won't you come in?" Ruth asks, stepping back a bit in invitation.

"No, thank you," she shakes her head. "The boys are waiting in the car. We've got a million and one errands to run today."

"Hello, Livie," Harry smiles as he steps up to stand beside Ruth. "In a rush as usual?"

"More so, unfortunately," she grins, shaking his proffered hand. "Would it be all right if I picked up Wes at four-ish? I know it's later than we'd arranged, but we're meeting Michael later than I'd thought and I'm sure we won't get all the shopping done with the boys, so-"

"Livie," he interrupts, "it's fine. Whatever time you like is fine with us. We'll have a grand time together, won't we, young Wesley?"

"Yup," Wes grins up at Harry.

* * *

It's when they're playing Sardines that she takes the opportunity to slip into Harry's room and have a look at the picture. It's one from before she left, taken on the Grid in a rare moment of light-heartedness, perhaps during someone's birthday back when it was still the done thing to have a small celebration on the Grid. She's laughing at something someone's said, her eyes and cheeks glowing, her face carefree and joyful. She wonders when was the last time she'd laughed like that. Probably with George, she concludes, feeling a pang at his memory and the memory of how she'd lost him.

He'd been a wonderful man – kind, caring, good, loyal, loving. Being with him and Nico had been a delight, and though part of her heart had always belonged to Harry, she'd been happy with them there and she'd loved them. Losing them still hurts, but today has show her that she's ready to begin to slowly move on. Harry has been so gentle and attentive and Wes so full of life that she's found herself experiencing a fullness of heart and a quiet joy more potent than anything she's felt in a long, long time.

* * *

She watches them sitting together, heads bent over the chess board, Harry warmly complimenting Wes's latest move, and she feels a lump rise in her throat at the scene before her. It isn't the memory of George and Nico and their idyllic life together on Cyprus that's brought tears to her eyes, though the scene before her does stir some memories from that time too. No, what's moved her more than anything else is the memory of the daydreams she used to have before she'd left London, daydreams of a shared life with Harry, starting a family with him and watching a scene just like this one between Harry and their child.

"Ruth?" he murmurs softly and she suddenly realises that he's looking at her now. "Are you all right?"

She nods, unable to speak for a moment as she swallows and clears her throat. "I'm fine," she whispers, attempting a smile. "I'll just make a cup of tea. Would you like one?"

"Let me get it," he offers, beginning to rise.

"No," she shakes her head, already standing and heading towards the door. "Finish your game."

He watches her go with concern, but though he follows her direction and continues the chess game with Wes, his heart is no longer in it. It was so stupid of him to do this, he berates himself. He knew it would bring back memories of the boy and George and now she's upset and unhappy. It had been selfish of him to ask her here and now she's in pain because of him... _again_.

"Why don't we take a little break from this game, Wes?" he suggests some five minutes later when Ruth has not returned. "How about you choose a film to watch from the DVDs Ruth's rented? See which one you fancy and pop it in the player. I'll go help Ruth with the tea and be right back."

"All right, Uncle Harry," the boy smiles, jumping up and moving over to the TV to switch everything on. He's only been here once before, but he still remembers where everything's kept, which warms Harry's heart, making him realise just how much like Adam the boy is and how much he must have enjoyed his last visit. Making a mental note to invite him over again sometime soon rather than wait until next Christmas, he gets up and makes his way to the kitchen, opening the door carefully and peering in.

Ruth's standing by the window, looking out into his back garden, utterly absorbed in her thoughts, so he slips noiselessly into the room and takes a few steps towards her, observing her carefully as he goes. She's not crying, he notes with some relief, so he clears his throat gently to alert her to his presence. She turns to face him then, murmuring, "Sorry. Have you come looking for your tea? I got lost in my thoughts for a moment." She smiles at him and he feels himself relax.

"That's all right," he replies. "I was just... worried about you. You looked..." he tails off.

She smiles and lifts her hand towards him, murmuring, "Come here, Harry."

He feels his heart begin to beat wildly in his chest as he approaches her slowly, taking her outstretched hand in his and moving closer, his eyes gazing into hers in confusion and hope. "What is it, Ruth?" he asks softly.

"I've had a lovely time today," she whispers and reaches up to kiss his cheek. "A really wonderful time. Thank you."

"It's my pleasure, Ruth," he smiles. "I'm glad you've... enjoyed it. I wasn't sure if-"

"It wasn't that," she murmurs, able to read his mind it would seem. "Well, it was partly George and Nico, but mostly... I remembered myself, Harry. My hopes and dreams for the future..." She turns to look out the window again, but doesn't let go of his hand, loving the reality to it, so warm and large and firm. "For a few wonderful days, Harry, after you'd asked me and before the others found out, I had this wonderful daydream. In fact, even afterwards, after I'd so stupidly ended it between us, I still hoped for it, and seeing you now with Wes, it brought it all back."

"What was this dream, Ruth?" he asks softly, scared to break the spell, but wanting to know so badly.

"Us," she smiles. "Together, in a cottage somewhere. A family, a baby who grows up to be a beautiful child. You playing with him or her while I watched. It..." her voice cracks and he can't help himself.

He turns and pulls her into his arms, cradling her head against his shoulder as he presses his lips against her forehead and whispers, "I've had the same dream, Ruth. I've had the same dream and it's not too late for us. Tell me it's not too late, Ruth. I love you. I love you so much. Give us a chance, my darling. Please. That's all I want. It's all I've wanted for years." He tilts her head up gently and gazes into her gorgeous, blue eyes that are swimming with tears for a moment before murmuring his love for her again and pressing his lips softly against hers.

* * *

His heart is overflowing with love and joy and contentment, so much so that he wouldn't be at all surprised to find that his chest is actually glowing. He gazes down at her sleeping face, that is pillowed against his shoulder, and he can't quite get over how beautiful she is, her face angelic in repose. She'd fallen asleep against him while watching a film, and though he's been needing to pee for the last ten minutes at least, he's been unwilling to move lest he wake her and break the spell, enjoying the feel of her against him, in his arms where he's pictured her so many times over the years, far too much to let her go.

Sadly, however, his bladder is not made of steel and he does eventually need to move, cursing himself for drinking too much tea. Gently, he shifts his body forward and twists around, grabbing a cushion to place under her head as he lowers her slowly to the sofa and edges out of his seat. All his efforts are in vain, however, and she begins to stir, whimpering a little in protest.

"Shhhhh," he whispers softly, stroking her shoulder and hair as he gets up and rests her head on the cushion. "Go back to sleep." She whimpers again and sighs deeply before he sees her relax, and smiling, he covers her with the throw from the arm chair and tiptoes out of the room.

When he returns, she's awake and sitting up, rubbing her hands over her face in an effort to force the sleep from her eyes. "Sorry," she murmurs as she looks up and spies him standing in the doorway, smiling fondly at her. "Did I fall asleep on you?"

He nods, moving further into the room. "You did," he smiles.

"Oh dear," she murmurs in distress, covering her face with her hands. "Please tell me I didn't snore or drool on you."

He chuckles, taking a seat beside her and covering her right knee with his hand to give it a reassuring squeeze. "I wouldn't have minded if you had," he says gently. "It was quite wonderful."

She turns to look at him doubtfully, but seeing the smile on his lips and the joy in his eyes, she can't help but relax and return his smile. "That's good," she murmurs, reaching her hand forward to touch his arm. His shirt is so soft under her fingertips that she can't help stroking it gently a few times, adding, "This shirt is so soft and silky. I can't keep my hands off it."

"In that case, I'll wear it everyday," he murmurs huskily, leaning in to kiss her as he lifts his right hand from her knee and brings it up to cup her cheek. It's a gentle kiss, his lips soft and sweet, his touch warm and comforting. He doesn't rush her; he doesn't press her; he doesn't ask for more. He doesn't ask for anything, in fact, just gives her of himself. She can feel the wonder, the joy, the love in his kiss. She can taste the tenderness in his heart and the passion in his soul. She can hear his message loud and clear as if he's actually spoken. "I'll wait for you, Ruth. As long as it takes. I'll wait for you and I'll love you and I'll give you all that you ask for. I'll make your dreams come true."

The hall clock strikes midnight as they pull apart, gazing into each other's eyes as it finishes chiming the hour, smiling softly at each other. "Happy Christmas, Ruth," he whispers softly.

"Harry Christmas, Harry," she smiles in return.


End file.
